Error: No Identity
by scaredfox
Summary: Saskia Vasiliev, A.K.A. The other Winter Soldier. After 70 years of HYDRA brainwashing, she barely remembered her own name, let alone her affections for the metal armed man she completed her missions with, but at least the asset wasn't alone in her attempt to remember just who the hell she was. Bucky/OC. (Cover by axeeeee on tumblr)
1. Lest we forget

**Inspired by 'In The Dawn Of Change' by seasidewriter1.**

 **Summary: Saskia Vasiliev, A.K.A. The other Winter Soldier. After 70 years of HYDRA brainwashing, she barely remembered her own name, let alone her affections for the metal armed man she completed her missions with, but at least the asset wasn't alone in her attempt to remember just who the hell she was.**

* * *

Lest We Forget

 **Siberian Hydra Facility, Russia  
November 20th, 1963**

"Agent Vasiliev?"

The asset raised her head slowly, her head throbbing with pain—although, she knew it would fade quickly; the asset's wounds always faded quickly. She recognised the name. Agent Vasiliev. HYDRA assassin. Operative. Soldier. _Her_.

Name required response. Especially after those words—always those words, only ever those words—she was programmed to respond. Only certain words acceptable—only certain words necessary. Response language required: Russian. Other language options: English, German, Romanian—some Italian, incomplete knowledge.

"Ready to comply." Toneless, but clear strain in her voice. Most likely from excessive use of voice. Most likely linked to pain in her head (subsiding quicker with each moment). The soldier did not get ill. The asset was immune to illness. Most probable cause: strain on vocal chords. Specifically: Screaming.

Comply.

The word echoed through the asset's mind.

Comply. Only to HYDRA, only ever to HYDRA, she complied. Her purpose was to serve them. Her purpose was to fulfil whatever mission they gave her. A soldier, loyal to HYDRA. She complied. Always.

The soldier—or, as she had been addressed, Agent ( _Asset, Soldier, Lieutenant, Miss)_ Vasiliev—assessed the man stood in front of her. She was unsure whether there was any recognition of the face, but she understood that she had to take whatever orders the man gave regardless (he had said the words, and she always— _always_ —complied upon hearing those words). The room was dark, only lit by somewhat dim orange lights, the light glow causing extra shadows on the man's face. It was cold, but she couldn't feel the coolness against the skin of her right arm, only her left. Vasiliev (no first name, she didn't have or know a first name) knew she had seen the room before. She had sat in this chair before, surrounded by the same equipment she was now—screens and equipment and metal.

Urge to flinch at equipment: Resisted.

There were armed guards; four armed guards, two at each of the room doors. Two escape roots—but no escape. She was not allowed—she could not, she had been trained to _not_ —escape. Under no circumstances whatsoever was she allowed to escape, nor breakout, nor run, nor fight.

She could only submit and serve. That was her purpose. To submit to HYDRA, and to serve HYDRA. She served HYDRA, and only ever HYDRA.

Agent—Soldier— _Asset_ Vasiliev looked at the man once more. Features: not particularly memorable. Light skin, of European descent. Hard laughter lines, harsh cheekbones, bony facial structure. Brown eyes. Square jawline. Thin eyebrows. Greying, balding. Most likely in mid-fifties. Nothing of recognition; simply a face of a man she lived to serve. Urge to strangle man (with the right arm, her mind insisted, always the right arm): Resisted. Too many risks. Four armed soldiers—Heckler Koch MP5 submachine fund held, Makarov Pistols in holsters. Chance of escape: close to null.

She looked at the doors once more, only momentarily. Images flashed through her mind. A shout. A name, faded and distant. A train. A person. People. Two people. And falling. Falling. _Falling_. Vasiliev felt her heartbeat increase, as well as a sickness in her stomach.

Urge to panic: Resisted.

She concluded that the images were irrelevant, unnecessary in assisting her in whatever mission she needed to complete. They only served as hindrances. The images, though she had no understanding of what they were, needed to be dismissed. The images caused acute emotional distress. ( _Emotion:_ _an affective state of consciousness in which joy, sorrow, fear, hate, or the like, is experienced, as distinguished from cognitive and volitional states of consciousness)_ Emotion caused distraction, distraction hindered a mission. She could not risk making mistakes.

"You have a mission, Miss Vasiliev."— _Vasiliev._ Not wrong, but not right either. It was her name, but not what it was supposed to be—"Assassination. You'll be accompanying Sergeant Barnes." She ignored the constriction in her chest at the mention of the name. It was purely coincidence. Barnes was a fellow assassin, she reminded. That was all. Another HYDRA assassin. Another Winter Soldier.

(Barnes. Another option to Vasiliev. Barnes. She could recall nothing else but that.)

She nodded, showing acknowledgement of the mission. Looking down, she saw that she was already fully clad—combat boots, black cargo trousers, tight black leather jacket. Only one sleeve, she remembered, because her other arm had no requirement for it. It was metal. She knew that fact, yet it felt odd looking at it. It wasn't right, she knew, but it was all she knew. It was drilled into her mind that she was indebted to HYDRA; they had enhanced her. They had saved her. They had given her purpose. She served them because of this.

She was created to serve them.

"The year is 1963." The man begun, his thick German accent becoming apparent. He turned toward the door, left exit, white lab coat swinging behind him. The asset lifted herself from the chair (no more confines) and simply followed. The soldiers moved out of the way on command of the man—of her handler—keeping a firm grip on their guns as she walked past. The fidgeting movements and the whitening of their knuckles signified to the soldier that they were nervous—scared, even—of her presence.

 _("You are one dangerous woman, S…"_ —the name blurred in her mind—" _Even without a gun.")_

More concrete walls and cold, damp halls followed the room.

"We're currently at the Siberian base, but we're moving to the United States. Your next mission, Agent Vasiliev, is to assassinate the president."

She simply nodded and followed, ignoring the inkling of what one could only identify as dread.

* * *

Her hair was plaited after she boarded the plane, the HYDRA agents tugging just a bit too hard for comfort. It didn't bother the asset, however. It didn't make her feel anything. Just mild discomfort for a brief moment.

She had put her mask on, leaving nothing but her eyes and forehead visible (the asset didn't know what eye colour she had, and only knew her hair was black, seemingly, from the odd strand that had fallen in her line of site). She had expected to feel the material of it against her fingers as she put it on, but was once again met with the cold metal of her right arm—only processing the pressure of the action, never the feeling.

Her right arm was her stronger arm. Her gift from HYDRA. Her saving.

It didn't evoke any emotion, only a lack of sensation.

It was a weapon. She was a weapon.

"Barnes will be boarding in a minute or so, so start to prepare for take-off." She heard one agent exchange to another. The soldier kept her head straight, eyes forward, never moving her gaze from what was directly in front of her (unless given otherwise instruction, she always did so; she never acted without instruction).

Her eyes did shift, however, when the other when the other winter soldier boarded the plane, mask donned on his face yet still was immediately recognisable to her. For a brief, split second of a moment, their line of sight met, but then she returned her own eyes to the boring interior of the plane, staring at nothing in particular.

(She had done missions with him before. She knew him only because he was another assassin, another operative, _another soldier_.)

The long hair felt wrong. It looked…wrong. She didn't know exactly what he was meant to look like instead, but it wasn't that. And the blue eyes—

( _"You have the prettiest eyes I've ever seen."_ )

The bluest of eyes—

( _"Have you seen your own, doll? God, we're going to have the bluest eyed babies ever_.)

Completely void of life.

She felt something for a moment, but it left as quickly as it came.

The turbulence of the flight didn't bother her. Nor the passing hours spent in silence. Her mind positively blank.

All she knew was her non-metal hand had somehow found a way to intertwine with Barnes' own.

(He sat on her left side, and it was his right arm that was normal.)

He made no protest, and simply kept her hand between his.

The asset didn't understand it, but it seemed instinctive.

And the asset was programmed to never fight against instinct.

* * *

 **I'm sorry if the writing is odd and choppy. That's kind of how it's intended to be since the OC has just had her brain frazzled by HYDRA (again). Saskia's backstory will of course eventually be revealed, but I wanted to start from a point where she's brainwashed and can't remember anything about herself. Also, to my knowledge JFK wasn't assassinated by Bucky in the comics or movies or anything, I just thought that'd be a fun idea to play with.**

 **Anyway, I've never written for this fandom before so I am _somewhat_ nervous about posting this, but hopefully my writing isn't too awful and I won't get flamed or anything. Constructive reviews on anything and everything are always appreciated and encouraged!**


	2. Glimpse of the Future

Glimpse of the Future

 **Queens, New York, United States of America  
February 14th, 1943**

"The Stark expo, huh? This was the surprise last date before you…" She swallowed thickly, attempting not to choke out the words. "Before you ship out to England, tomorrow."

"What?" Bucky smiled nervously, before his face suddenly dropped. "Was it a bad idea?"

"No, no!" Saskia couldn't help but grin at Bucky's adorable worry. Even when his life was about to be put on the line, that was his primary concern—whether or not she was happy. "It's perfect. I'm just nervous about you leaving is all. I mean, what if this is our only glimpse of the future together, you know? What if I become widowed before we even marry, James Buchanan Barnes?" She chuckled lightly, in a vain attempt to mask her worry. But, she never had been good at hiding her emotions around him.

"Well, Saskia Vasiliev,"—Once again, his smile, as well as the way he pronounced her last name a little wrong, never failed to lift some of the heaviness of her heart, even if only slightly—"I vow to come back. And, I promise that, when I do, every other vow I make to you will be on that damn alter. I promise you. And that, that ring, around your finger—that's proof of that, Sas."

She couldn't help but grin, looking down at the engagement ring around her finger. She was caught off guard, however, when she felt Bucky's hand pull her chin up to look at him. He leant down slightly, allowing his lips to meet hers for a brief, fleeting moment. The butterflies came back once again, even despite the fact they had been a couple for almost three years now, and he had proposed the year before. They'd most likely married by now, too, if it wasn't for this damn war. Bucky had been too hesitant, for the exact reason of him knowing there may come a day when he'd have to join the war too, and there was the fear between them both that he would never return.

She'd known him since they were young teens, and, as a result, she knew Steve too, and she'd quickly become best friends with both of them. There had always been an element of romance between the two—an undeniable feeling of skinny love—but Saskia had been too scared to admit it, and Bucky had been a bit of a Romeo in his earlier years.

"Its awful having such a foreign sounding name at wartime, you know." Saskia forced a smile. "We may be allied with the soviets now, but they were still with the Nazis once upon a time. And, even when I can go by the name Mrs. Barnes," Her heart fluttered in her chest, just a little. "I'll still have my German given name."

Bucky rolled her eyes at her. "Immigration was a huge twenty, forty, _eighty_ years ago doll. You're not the only one. Especially here in New York."

And, when he said the word New York, that adorable accent came through once again. Saskia spoke perfect English, but her Brooklyn accent was sometimes spoiled (she believed, Bucky disagreed) by the way she'd pronounce certain words. Growing up with a Russian father had influenced that, but she hardly had an overall Russian accent. Her mother also had an accent, being German and all, but it was hardly as strong as her fathers was, and she had also died in Saskia's early teenage years, so the way she spoke was hardly as influential on her.

Saskia worried too much, of that she was aware. Whether it be because of her name, or how people perceived her, or about Bucky. She was an undeniable worrywart. Not quite to the point it became overbearing, just to a point where it became hard to hide her nerves. She knew she didn't have to be overly worried about Bucky, because she knew he was skilled. Although, at the same time, so was she—her father had fought in world war one, and had been a damn good soldier too. He was too old to serve now, but that hadn't stopped him teaching her every skill he knew growing up.

Her father was quite the feminist, unlike many other men, and he chose to teach his child, whatever gender, his skills. He didn't particularly hope she'd ever have to use them, but there was a chance, and he wanted her to be ready. He wanted her to prove them all wrong.

(But she couldn't go to war. And it broke her heart, because she knew she could protect Bucky if she did. She knew she could _fight_.)

"I suppose you're right, Buck. Anyway, let's go find Steve. Connie will be awfully mad if her date isn't here on time on Valentine's Day."

"What did you tell her about him?" Bucky smirked knowingly, and Saskia smiled widely, and decided to copy a line that she had heard Bucky say more than once.

"Only the good things."

* * *

 **Dallas, Texas, United States of America  
Friday, November 22nd, 1963**

The motorcade route which John F. Kennedy, who Vasiliev was told was the current president of the United States, had been specifically chosen by HYDRA members who had managed to infiltrate the Secret Services. 20,000 windows overlooked it, and the route had enough turns to substantially slow down the vehicle. It was the optimum conditions for an assassination—there couldn't be security in every room of every building.

Despite the fact all odds were in HYDRA's favour, they placed both the assets in separate buildings on either side of the street. If one of them didn't get a clean shot, then the other had to.

( _"I'm definitely a better shot than you, Barnes. You're good, but I'm just a little better." She teased, keeping a firm grip on the rifle in her hand. It wasn't her exact weapon of choice—she preferred close combat—but she was still a damn good shot. She didn't believe herself to be quite as good as Bucky, though. Never quite as good as Bucky._ )

 _"2 minutes 'til target is in range."_ She heard through her ear piece. The three other HYDRA agents in the room got into position, guns at the ready in case their location became exposed. The bullets coming from two different directions would throw them off—they wouldn't know where to go first, and they'd have to split their forces, so it would be easier to get out in case they were intercepted by them.

The asset remained in position, adjusting her hold on the sniper rifle. There was no feeling of the cold metal against her right hand; no sensation of her finger around the trigger. Only pressure. Only the knowledge that it was there.

 _"1 minute."_ She heard again. When the target came around the bend, it was only a matter of hearing the instruction.

 _"Target approaching."_

(And all of the asset's instincts screamed in confliction. They screamed how this was _wrong!_ )

"Target in view." One of the HYDRA operatives in the room spoke. Through her riflescope, she saw the face of the man she was sent to murder—sent to assassinate. The president of the United States. And she only recognised him from the photo that HYDRA had shown her of him.

And the feeling of dread returned, but the asset didn't know how to fight it, or how to process it. The feeling, the instruction, to comply overwhelmed her. And it began to repeat in her head like a mantra once more, blocking out all other thought and feeling. She complied. That's what she did. That's what she had been taught to do. She had to complete her mission.

She had to complete her mission.

 _"Shoot."_

That was the commanding word. The asset pulled the trigger, and watched for a second as both bullets flew toward the president. Then a third came, from a direction that neither Bucky nor she had shot.

"Where did the third shot come from?" She asked in Russian, unsure if the mission was going awry.

(It didn't matter. She had successfully completed her mission. But she wasn't briefed on any third shooter, so it might have been a threat—something that could be hostile to Hydra.)

"Our decoy."

A sacrificial pawn, the asset noted. An assailant, but only with the purpose of 'saving' her. Of saving the winter soldier.

And, suddenly, as if everything had hit reset once more, the asset felt nothing.

The mission was complete.

* * *

 **Manhattan, New York, United States of America  
February 14th, 1943**

It was only when Saskia returned home and was through the front door that she finally allowed the tears to run down her face. She wasn't about to let her own sadness and worry ruin her last night with Bucky. She wasn't about to let it ruin their dancing, or his smile. His smile, that made it seem like his life wasn't about to potentially end.

She ran over the details of the night as if her life depended on it, attempting to memorise it, just in case it was the last one she ever had with him.

They had ended up alone in the end. Steve left early, which caused Connie to leave early too (which, quite frankly, Saskia wasn't all too bothered about, since the girl had kept eyeing up her fiancé). Bucky didn't delve too deeply into why Steve decided to leave, but Saskia had a pretty good idea. She could understand his sadness and frustration and being denied the chance of joining the frontlines because, hell, she felt the exact same. She didn't even have the chance to apply at all. She knew that there was the option of being a nurse, but that certainly wasn't the field she excelled in. She knew how to shoot a goddamn gun.

Saskia's fingers found her way to her lips, lightly grazing them as she mentally replayed their last kiss. As she tried to remember the feeling of his lips against hers, and the way his hand skirted round her waist and pulled her closer to him. As she tried to remember the warmth of his fingers moving a fallen strand of hair away from his face. And as she tried to remember his closeness as they pulled away from the kiss, both lingering a moment too long, inches away, neither daring to enter again as both feared that they wouldn't be able to leave.

She was sure the worst part of it all was the momentary look of pure fear on his face. The momentary look of pure dread. Because, it was that moment of unadulterated worry that imprinted in her memory, since it was in that moment she realised that Bucky was just as afraid to lose her as she was afraid to lose him.

Of course, the expression didn't linger. He covered it up with one of his smiles that made Saskia feel as though she could melt, and she played along, returning her own sad smile. But the image remained in her mind.

Both were hesitant to leave the other, of course. Her fingers refused to untangle from his until she realised just how late it was becoming, and she knew he needed an early night. He insisted otherwise, but he was leaving early the next morning. She wanted him to have the best night sleep that he possibly could.

It wasn't until the sound of small sniffles reached her ears that Saskia realised how painfully slow she had been walking up her stairs, instead choosing to reminisce over those last few moments. The sound came from her brother's room, whose door was ajar. She quickened her pace, and quickly entered his room. Bucky wasn't the only one shipping out to war tomorrow, but her brother also, who just so happened to also be in the 107th. That thought both comforted and worried her at the same time, knowing that her brother and Bucky would be together, yet were at very equal chances of being shot or killed.

Even despite the creak of his door opening, her brother, Kurt, remained with her back to her, staring down at the uniform before him. The room was only illuminated by the soft glow of his orange lamp, which only served in emphasising his shadow.

"You don't seem overly excited about being sent to war tomorrow, Kurt." Saskia spoke softly. She knew he wasn't too happy about going to war—she couldn't imagine any man would be—but he had seemed enthusiastic enough, particularly around their father. His exact words were that he was going to 'kick some nazi ass', and she remembered just how proud her father had looked. He wasn't fond of fascist or communist regimes (and was in fact what someone would describe as a 'white émigré') and Saskia's lips couldn't help but tug upwards as she recalled the memory of the three sat around the dinner table smack talking Hitler.

"Kurt?" She tried again, and bit her lip worriedly, but her voice finally managed to catch the attention of her younger brother. She attempted to wear a sweet smile on her face, in an attempt to calm it nerves, but it only faltered once her eyes fell on her younger brother's face. His eyes were red and puffy, and his eyelashes were clumped together from all the moisture of his tears, which had stained his cheeks.

One might've called it a pitiful sight for a man to cry as if he were a child, one night before being sent into a warzone. But, he was only nineteen, and he was her brother, and the sight was far from pitiful for her.

He didn't respond, but instead only stared blankly at her. So, she continued, "Why didn't you tell me you didn't want to go?"

Her brother let out a dry, sardonic laugh, a wry smile contorting his face. "It's not like I have a choice, Saskia. Dad—dad looked so happy and proud when I signed up, you know? But I don't—I don't want to go to war, Saskia." Kurt's voice began to break, but his eyes remained staring blankly at his bedroom walls. Saskia instinctively went to hug him, feeling her brother's chest vibrate against her as he let out another shaky breath. "I'm scared, Sas." He said, his voice no louder than a whisper.

And then, an idea—an absurd, crazy, nonsensical idea—popped into Saskia's mind.

Without explanation, Saskia broke the hug and ran into the kitchen, ignoring her brother's questions.

She began rummaging through each of the drawers, searching for one specific item. She heard someone walking up behind her, but was uncaring of how much noise she made, and was uncaring of whether it was her brother or father. Both would freak out at what she was about to do, but she knew that at least one of them would encourage it.

...Hopefully.

"Saskia, what on earth are you doing? Dad's still..." Her brother began, whispering loudly, but went silent when his eyes fell on the pair of scissors she was holding.

"You're not going to war tomorrow." She proclaimed, holding the scissors up to a piece of her hair, and her jaw set.

"No, no, no. Saskia, don't—"

There was a collective silence between the two when the sound of the scissors snipping resonated around the small tiled room, and Kurt couldn't help but watch in shock as a large piece of his sister's dark hair fell to the floor.

"I am."

* * *

 **Chapter two! I'm sorry it's short, I promise chapters will become longer once my GCSEs are finished. I've just been dying to get an update out. Also, is it bad I've already pre-booked my infinity war ticket? I'm seeing it on the release date and everything. Wow, I'm obsessed.**

 **Anyway, as always, I appreciate and adore any reviews given so please leave me your thoughts!**


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